The Platonic Trap novel Chapter 73

The Capital was known as the city that never sleeps.

Here, even in the dead of night, the skyline was an endless sea of brilliant neon and intoxicating extravagance.

The glowing lights were the city's pulse, the endless stream of traffic a river of molten gold.

But between the cracks of that blinding luxury lay shadows where the streetlights simply couldn't reach.

A thin streak of blood marked Celia's porcelain cheek.

The flickering, sickly yellow streetlamp above her cast long, imposing shadows that danced whenever a stray figure walked past the alley.

She was wearing a pristine white silk blouse, which now served as a stark canvas for the raw, glaring scrape running down her right forearm.

The wound was dusted with fine gravel and dirt, the fabric around it thoroughly soaked in a striking bloom of crimson.

Staring down at her torn arm, Celia's expression remained perfectly blank, her eyes darkening under the dim light.

Satisfied with the extent of her "injuries," she reached out with her uninjured hand, unlocked the phone, and made the call.

Ring.

Ring.

It rang for an agonizingly long time, only connecting at the very last second before it went to voicemail.

The moment the line opened, Celia's long eyelashes fluttered.

"Hello? Ken?"

Her entire demeanor shifted instantly. Her voice trembled, laced with a hyperventilating panic.

If one listened closely, they could hear the fragile, breathless edge of someone on the verge of tears.

The line went dead silent. Finally, a deeply resonant, ice-cold voice poured through the speaker.

"Celia. It's me."

The sheer perfection of his voice sent a thrill through her, and a victorious smile bloomed in the shadows of the alley.

Burying the satisfaction in her eyes, Celia ramped up the act, sounding absolutely terrified. "U-Uncle Alistair?"

"Yes," Alistair replied evenly, his tone chillingly composed. "Ken is still in his meeting. What's wrong?"

"Ah..." The girl sounded as timid as a frightened deer, like the slightest breeze would shatter her into tears.

Despite that, she managed a delicate, shaky sniffle over the line. "It's nothing... I-I'll just wait until his meeting is over."

Initially unaware that his boss was on a call, Ken opened his mouth to deliver his report, only to be immediately silenced by a sharp raise of Alistair's hand.

The words caught awkwardly in Ken's throat, choking him.

Blinking in confusion, Ken finally realized the device pressed to the billionaire's ear was his own backup phone.

He smartly clamped his mouth shut.

The girl on the line still hadn't answered his question.

The silence stretched, heavy and thick.

Finally, her soft, sweet voice broke through again, asking tentatively, "Is Ken back yet?"

Alistair lifted his gaze, his impenetrable eyes landing squarely on the impeccably dressed assistant standing in the middle of his office.

Ken, still clutching his meeting minutes, met the terrifying gaze of his boss with a look of pure, unadulterated bewilderment.

Staring right at Ken, Alistair spoke into the receiver, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. "No. His meeting is going to take a very long time."

He distinctly heard the girl let out a soft, hopelessly disappointed "Oh."

Rubbing his thumb thoughtfully against his index finger, Alistair's voice dropped to a sleek, commanding octave. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."